[ONC 2024 Prompt 18]
The once-famous temple dancers are now left to destitution; their status is akin to that of prostitutes, and hence they hope for a saviour to help them reclaim their lost glory.
There are hushed whispers of the prophecied Natesh...
"No. Her story must be legendary, so no one shall ever raise a finger or look at my sisters and daughters with disgust. They were raised to the status of living goddesses, and they shall live as one. She shall be the only one to fulfil this quest."
"This journey won't be easy on her, Devi Parvati."
"The quest to greatness is always a path full of thorns, Bhudevi."
"You wouldn't want to bleed her out."
"To live a life that is to be sung about, one needs to shed blood, sweat, and tears. Great men and women from your world and the gods in ours are the proof of this."
The Earth goddess dressed in a plain blue saree with jasmine vines on her braid goes quiet as her eyes drift towards the young divine woman approaching the goddess duo.
"There is our Sharvani," says Bhudevi.
"The next Nateshwari."
***
The connecting link between the gods in the heavens above the mortal realm and the gods who preside over earthly matters is the holy mountain called Kailash, the abode of Lord Shiva and his warrior-wife, Parvati.
Every century, the old earthly gods ascend to the heavens, and new gods take up their posts to oversee the happenings in Bhuloka, along with the earth goddess, Bhudevi. Thus, the council of the gods of the earthly realms sits atop the Kailash once in a span of hundred years to see the new chosen deities.
Sharvani, the new Nateshwari, chosen by Devi Parvati herself, did undergo meticulous training in the performing arts by the celestial dancers and musicians of Indra's court.
Candidates are aiming for the post of the Nateshwari train under the best of Indra's dancers and musicians before she is chosen by Parvati, the supreme goddess of dance.
And, like all the previous goddesses of dance, Sharvani proved to be the best candidate and thus succeeded in securing the position.
The former dancing goddess, with a graceful smile, looks at the council and bows down to them with gratitude. Kissing the jewelled ruby on the crown, she gently places it above Sharvani's head as the whole council showers flowers on the newly crowned Nateshwari.
As the celebrations for the crowning ceremony subside, Parvati walks over to Sharvani, who immediately bows down to her in reverence.
"You are aware of your story that will take place after this night, right? Are you ready?" Parvati asks. Her eyes rake over the young goddess.
Thick wavy hair cascading down her back, feline upturned eyes that possess a gaze as sharp as a sword, a gold nose-ring studded with stones, plump lips dyed in a shade of red roses, and a face as fair as milk. A gait that shall bring the swans to shame and a lithe body that skillfully tunes itself to any melody.
She is indeed fit to be a dancing goddess.
'Alas, the lotus-like beauty must surround herself with filth,' thinks the goddess while admiring Sharvani.
"I am well aware, Devi. I hope to work to the best of my abilities and bring change," Sharvani answers with a hopeful smile, while Parvati nods at her, her face concealing a pained expression at the fate of the future Nateshwari.
For the earthly deities knew not their fates just like their mortal worshippers. They can bless mankind, bestow all kinds of blessings and gifts on them, and even perform miracles, but they were never told the complete story of their destiny. That had to unfurl with their choices and time.
But Sharvani's tale shall be even more unique, for she is the first of the earth deities to take birth as a human, an event that no deity has ever taken part in.
Parvati breathes deeply and places her hand on Sharvani's head. "All the best, Devi."
***
Somewhere in a Vishnu temple, a young girl rests her head on her grandmother's lap. The grandmother, old and wrinkled, still sings a lullaby to her granddaughter, who is now on the threshold of budding youth.
The girl's eyes are about to waft close, as she gazes at the black stone idol of the sleeping Narayana who rests on the coils of Adisesha. The sculptor has perfectly carved a blissful smile of the Preserver, and gazing at the loving smile of the lord, the girl too smiles to herself.
"What do you think will happen to us Ammaachi?" The girl asks.
The old grandmother moves her gaze away from her granddaughter to look at the dark sky outside. Outside the window stands a majestic Banyan tree, its roots almost reaching the ground and its branches spreading all over like a large green umbrella. The nightly zephyr causes the leaves to rustle, the dangling roots gently move in the breeze, and the old woman closes her eyes in peace, which itself is a rarity in their lives.
Caressing the girl's hair, she answers, "Maybe if our service to the gods has been faultless, then we might get a saviour who shall rescue us."
"Like Rama and Krishna?"
"No, Kanna, it will be a goddess, our Nateshwari."
The young girl murmurs the title of the goddess as her eyes close after gazing at the beautiful face of Narayana to her heart's content. The night is peaceful, gentle, and soft, like the loving caress of a mother, and so one must sleep well and tight.
Tomorrow may not be blissful, and these women, claimed to be eternally auspicious now seldom know comfort and bliss.
The grandmother lovingly gazes at the young one sleeping with her head on her lap. The girl's mother shall return at dawn, for they were holy brides of the gods only during the day, and by night, they were the brides of the city, town, or village.
Talking to the empty skies, in hopes of the wind carrying her message to the same gods bonded to them via nuptial knots, she says, "If the legends are true, then O Goddess, come soon. Alleviate us from this misery. May such humiliating fate never befall another woman."
A single moonflower falls into the old, wrinkled saree of the grandmother, who shakily picks up the white bloom in her hands. Admiring the softness of the night-blooming flower, she sighs and tucks it under the pages of the palm leaf books that talk about the rituals before a dance show.
Her tired eyes look at the empty sight outside the window. Around the large Banyan tree stretches the temple courtyard, which is lit up with earthen lamps, their flames slowly dying to the speedy winds of the night. A few women walk across the courtyard, some carrying their thin shawls and anklets.
Leaning her head against a pillar, the grandmother, too, gives in to the embrace of sleep.
Better days will come sometime. The goddess will arrive soon, and maybe everything will be well. After all, how long does a storm last?
***
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lossary:
1. Bhuloka: Bhu (earth) loka (world) 2. Nateshwari: Goddess of Dance 3. Ammaachi: maternal grandmother
